Control
by SpeckledBrunette
Summary: Moriaty has Sherlock at his mercy. Warning: Non-Con, very mature. Please do not take warning lightly!


**CONTROL**

Sherlock was dragged roughly to his feet and held steady against the brick feature wall of Moriaty's bedroom. He writhed uncomfortably.

'What, precisely, do you want from me?' Sherlock said. His voice, to the unaccustomed, would have seemed nonchalant, Moriaty however knew different. He could detect that nano-molar of fear amongst the heavily diluted solvent of impassiveness. And he LOVED it.

'Well darling, take a look at our surroundings and make one of those big ol' deductions of yours'. His strong arms pinned Sherlock, closing him in against his taut muscular chest. Sherlock ground his teeth together and remained decidedly silent.

'Oh honey! I love it when you're so out of your depth. It's really quite charming. Now, enough with the flirting, Daddy only has an hour or so to play before I have to be somewhere. People to threaten, fraud to commit etcetera…. Boys, if you would be so kind.'

Sherlock slid back down the wall when Moriaty suddenly released him, his legs unable to bear his weight. Moriaty's 'boys' came appeared quite suddenly and pulled Sherlock, non-too gently, back to his feet. With a swift kick to the back of his legs he was soon kneeling, his arms wrenched behind his back.

'Jim. Please.' Sherlock begged. He looked up to see he had made himself comfortable on a leather sofa set near to the bed, and was watching the activities from off side. Sherlock cleared his dry throat. 'Jim, you're better than this. Please.' You could hear the break in his voice and the panic as his tone went up an octave. Jim's only response was to smile to him-self. Seemingly amused by Sherlock's words.

One of the three men holding him pulled roughly on Sherlock's dark curled and pulled until his neck was tautly bent backwards, whilst one of the others made short work of pulling off his coat and suit jacket. Sherlock fought as best he could but he was no match for Moriarty's men. Every resisting movement he made rewarded him with a sharp punch to abdomen or swift blow to his legs. His face notably avoided.

Next to go were his shoes and socks, followed shortly by his trousers. Finally, when he was left in only his shorts and shirt, Sherlock was unceremoniously pulled from his knees up towards the bed where he slammed onto his front, his arms handcuffed behind his back. Strong hands kept him held down firmly against the mattress whilst his shorts were removed and his ankles grabbed and pulled wide whilst they themselves were now bound tightly to the bedposts . Sherlock could feel the cold chains biting uncomfortably into his skin and could not shake the thought that, right now, he was utterly and completely helpless.

The men moved off and a door closed quietly. An uncomfortable silence drew across the room. Sherlock felt so very exposed, his purple shirt being his only protection. He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to detach from the situation. Thoughts of earlier in the day: John nagging him to eat something; Lestrade calling him in on the new murder case which took him all of three minutes to solve; Donovan and her usual sarcastic comments; John and _his_ disapproving comments for him retorting to those sarcastic comments…..

In his attempt to focus and calm down he hadn't noticed Moriarty slowly approaching the bed. Jim placed his hand and ran in up Sherlock's inner thigh causing him to jump and his eyes to flash open. Soothing thoughts completely forgotten.

'Oh Sherlock. Just look. At. You. I could just eat you all up. Maybe I will. If you're lucky.' He laughed and continued to prowl, running his hand up and down Sherlock's body, caressing the taught muscles of his legs and back. 'Honey relax! It's only me, I'll be gentle. This time.'

Sherlock closed his eyes and turned away from him, burying his head as far into the pillows as he could.

'Come now Sherlock. You want this. Okay, maybe you don't _think_ you want this now, but we all know you do. Or I do. And I know you. I AM you. And I'm really, all that matters right now.' The hands had stopped their rhythmic routine against the back of thigh causing Sherlock to both simultaneously relax and tense inwardly in preparation for what came next. Sherlock could hear the sound of clothes being dropped onto the floor.

'How can you possibly ever know what I want?' Sherlock asked, his voice slightly muffled into the pillows due to the angle his head was awkwardly forced into, pushing himself to converse to delay the inevitable. He could feel the mattress dip as the weight of Moriaty positioned himself between his legs. The tension was so much more heightened as he was unable to see behind him. He gave his bonds a quick tug. It was as he thought, no room whatsoever for movement. Moriaty was nothing if not thorough.

'Because you, Sherlock, are me. Perhaps without my impeccable taste and less socially 'inclined' should we say, but essentially, me. And baby you are going to love this' At this Moriaty pushed up and down the perfectly toned cleft of Sherlock's backside with the head of his cock, already wet and flushed, dripping with pre-come. Sherlock twisted and buckled but it was to no avail, Jim was held fast onto his slim hips and simply waited for him to stop.

'Oh I like it when you're feisty!' Jim laughed. A laugh that sent a shiver down Sherlock's spine. Sherlock calmed and led panting heavily. There was no way out of this he could see. He felt Moriaty lean over him, his cock pressed firmly against his entrance and his hands wound firmly into his hair, forcing his head back. 'Now, I want you to say my name' Jim whispered into his ear.

'No.'

'Say my name, Sherlock' Jim growled into his ear, in a voice so dangerously playful, pulling his head further and harder back as the seconds went by.

'Fuck. You.' Came the reply through gritted teeth.

'Since you asked so nicely.' With that Jim licked the beads of sweat which ran down Sherlock's temple, grinned manically and thrust hard into Sherlock causing him to scream. Jim stopped when he was fully buried, enjoying the sensation of Sherlock squirming against him, trying so hard to pull himself away, but held fast by Jim's iron grip against his bony white hips.

Jim took a deep breath in and started on a cruel and merciless pace causing Sherlock to continue to shout in pain. Their bodies were soon slicked together with sweat . When Jim finally came, he held still, and after what seemed like an age, he collapsed on the top of Sherlock, breathing heavily.

'Well. Sherlock. You never did say my name. But don't worry honey. We can work on that. I won't be long.' With that, Jim planted a kiss at the base of Sherlock's neck and peeled himself off the body beneath him. Moriaty turned round and grimaced when he saw the state he had left Sherlock in. 'Have to get the cleaners in' he muttered to himself as he pulled his phone out of the suit pocket, and without another glance, strutted over to the ensuite where Sherlock could hear the hiss of a shower.


End file.
